


Back To School Special

by FloriaTosca



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Anxiety, Baking, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Friendship, Gen, Not Black Panther (2018) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovery, Slice of Life, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers's Birthday, Steve loves apple cake, Take Your Fandom to Work Day, Therapy, Wakanda, bucky gets his brain fixed, cameos from all of Team Cap plus T'Challa and Ayo, sam being an awesome friend, steve and bucky finally get their hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7090939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloriaTosca/pseuds/FloriaTosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Team Cap is recuperating in Wakanda after the events of Civil War, Sharon finds a way for them to return to the United States under new civilian identities.  But there's a catch - they have to get day jobs.  And so Captain America and his friends have to face one of their most formidable challenges yet - work in the American public school system!<br/>(The first chapter is all recuperating-in-Wakanda.  The teaching stuff comes later.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was not. And then he was. _Sensation_. The roar of the heart, the rush of blood circulating again, the burn of nerves coming back to life. Air. Light. Motion. The prick of a needle, almost unnoticeable amidst the body’s cacophony. Stillness.

“It’s okay, Buck. You’ll feel better soon.”

* * *

 

Warm air, cool breeze. The Asset - no, _Bucky_ , he had a _name_ , his name was _Bucky_ \- was lying on a bed with an IV in his arm. Residual grogginess suggested sedation. There was at least one other person in the room, but probably no more than two, unless they were very stealthy. Music was playing nearby.

_I'm too hot (hot damn)_

_Called a police and a fireman_

_I'm too hot (hot damn)_

_Make a dragon wanna retire man_

Bucky cracked his eyes open. It was Sam. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam said cheerfully. Sam was uninjured, unrestrained, and showing no signs of distress. All positive indications that their current location was secure. At least for now.

“Pretty sure you got the wrong fairy tale, Wilson,” Bucky said. “T’Challa’s the only prince around here and I don’t think he likes me _that_ much.” Bucky yawned and leaned back on his pillows. “How long was I out?”

Sam looked mock-somberly at Bucky. “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news is that it took us longer than we thought to find someone trustworthy who could handle your level of brainwashing. Good news is that Steve and Sharon’s grandkids are really looking forward to meeting their Uncle Bucky.”

“Wilson, you are full of it,” Bucky said. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“What can I say, black don’t crack,” said Sam.

“Full. Of. It.”

“Okay, you’ve got me,” Sam admitted. “It’s July 1st. So Steve gets to spend his birthday gazing soulfully into your eyes instead of staring wistfully at your cryo tank.”

“Where is Steve, anyway?” Bucky asked.

“Taking a shower and nap if he knows what’s good for him,” Sam said. “He was here when they took you out of cryo, but you were pretty confused at first so the doctors decided to let you sleep it off. But Steve didn’t want you waking up by yourself, so I had to volunteer to babysit you so he would take a damn break.”

The background music changed from “Uptown Funk” to an annoyingly catchy pop song that was either about dolls or the objectification of women. “What the hell, Sam,” Bucky said. “I thought you had good taste in music. You know, for modern stuff.”

Sam smiled. “I heard you’ve been having memory problems. Thought I should introduce you to some songs that were hard to forget.”

Bucky groaned. “This is gonna be stuck in my head ‘til Judgement Day, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Sam said. “I made a whole playlist.”

“Does Steve know how terrible you are?”

“Bucky, I think you, me, and maybe Natasha are the only people currently alive who understand how terrible Steve can be.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Bucky paused for a moment, lost in thought, and then asked more seriously “Do they really think they can fix my brain, or did they just thaw me out as a birthday present for Steve?”

“They think they can fix you,” Sam said. “It’s an experimental procedure, but the head of the Wakandan National Institute of Neurology was pretty confident about it.”

As if at a signal, the head of the palace’s medical staff walked in to run some tests, and Sam politely excused himself and walked back to the guest wing to check on Steve and let him know that Bucky was awake and not too freezer-burned.

* * *

 

It was kind of boggling when Steve thought about it too hard - from sickly Brooklyn kid, to US army science project, to chorus girl, to leader of the Howling Commandos, to fighting aliens and robots in the 21st century, to becoming an African king’s workout buddy while Steve and his friends were on the run from the law. Sometimes Steve felt like he was in a modern version of the fabulous lost cities from the pulp novels he’d read when he was a teenager, but with more holograms. In all honesty, Steve was kinda homesick, but he’d been homesick since SHIELD thawed him out, so being in the Golden City instead of New York or DC didn’t make much difference. And T’Challa was being more than gracious helping Bucky and putting Steve’s friends up, so Steve sucked it up and did his best to be a good guest and decent company.

Steve and the king’s morning thirty-mile jog had been cut short because T’Challa had a bunch of meetings that day and Steve wanted to be there when Bucky came out of cryo. So Steve’s anxiety over Bucky was being buoyed up with a bunch of extra nervous energy that he hadn’t had a chance to burn off.

Steve would have gone to the gym, but the Dora Milaje were in the middle of PT and he wasn’t sure the women would appreciate the company. And Sam had wanted Steve to try to relax. _Try_ being the operative word. Steve made himself a pot of the local-style tea - he was normally more of a coffee guy, but Wakandan coffee was strong enough that it even affected him, a little, and he did not need to be more keyed up right then - and did the breathing exercises he’d picked up from Sam while it brewed.

When Steve felt less like he was about to jump out of his skin, he sat down with his tea and an English translation of a Wakandan history book. The book itself wasn’t terribly complicated - Steve suspected that it had originally been intended for teenagers - but there were so many references to people and events he’d never heard of that he had to stop and look something up on almost every page, which made it slow going.

Steve had made it to the early middle ages when Sam walked back into their suite, looking very pleased with himself. Steve stood up so fast he nearly knocked over his chair.

“Is Bucky awake yet?”

“Yeah, he is,” Sam said. “But you don’t need to rush. The doctors are looking at him right now. You can afford to finish your tea and _eat some fruit or something_ ,” Sam said pointedly. Steve was usually good about keeping on top of his metabolism, but usually didn’t mean always, especially when Steve was under a lot of stress. Steve looked at Sam like a golden retriever who had just seen his favorite ball put back in the closet, but he finished his tea and grimly ate a mango out of their fruit bowl.

“Can I go see Bucky _now_?” Steve asked.

Sam shrugged. “I’m not stopping you. I don’t know if the doctors will be done with him yet, but you might as well go down and ask. You won’t be any good to anyone until you talk to him,” Sam said. “Just… remember that the doctors are on our side, okay?”

“I promise I won’t swoop in and try to rescue him, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Steve said. “Honestly, Sam.” Sam looked unrepentant. Steve just rinsed out his teacup and headed for the medical wing.

Steve found Bucky sitting up in bed, working his way through a bowl of porridge with spiced butter. “Hey, Buck,” Steve said gently.

Bucky looked up. His face was gently flushed and his nose was beginning to run a little but he was smiling. “Hey, Stevie.” Bucky took another bite of his porridge and sniffed. “We could have used something like this back in Brooklyn when you got those awful colds.”

“Doctors treating you all right?” Steve asked.

“Best medical treatment I’ve had in decades,” said Bucky. “Okay, that’s not saying much. But really, I got nothing to complain about.”

“Did T’Challa find a way to fix the stuff in your head, Buck?” Steve asked.

“I’m not sure if _T’Challa_ did,” Bucky said. “He’s a really smart guy, but I don’t know if he’s any kind of head-shrinker. But Doctor Makutsi, the neurologist, _she_ thinks she’s got something. They’ve got a technique they use to help make new mental pathways in people with head injuries and she thinks they could use it to teach my brain to go around the triggers, or something like that. It’s really damn complicated, but she seemed confident.”

“That’s wonderful, Buck,” Steve said. He really was happy, and relieved, so why were his eyes stinging all of a sudden? It must have been the scent of the chilis.

Bucky smiled ruefully, put his bowl on the bedside table, and scooted to the side of the bed. “C’mere, you big punk,” he said affectionately. Steve sat down awkwardly next to Bucky on the edge of the bed and threw a companionable arm around his shoulders, which somehow turned into a clingy undignified hug.

“I just… I missed you so much, Buck,” Steve muttered into Bucky’s good shoulder.

“Well, you’re stuck with me now, you big dope,” Bucky said affectionately.

“I’ll be holding you to that.”

* * *

 

“Did it work, Doctor?” A young woman’s voice. Eastern European accent: not Russian or German. The sounds of medical equipment in the background.

“We shall see.” A different woman. Older. African or Caribbean. “The readings say he’s waking up.”

“Good morning, Bucky,” said the young woman. Right, _Wanda_. He was in Wakanda having his brain unscrambled. But why wasn’t his body cooperating?

“Try to relax, James,” said the doctor. “You are quite safe. I will release the restraints when I can be assured of your mental state. Please close your eyes.” Bucky obeyed, and felt fresh air on his face as the doctor removed the headset. “Thank you. James, do you know where you are?”

Bucky blinked and squinted in the bright light. “Wakanda,” he rasped. “Medical wing of the royal palace, unless somebody moved me when I was out.”

“Very good. Do you know who we are?”

“Doctor Subira Makutsi, the best neurologist in Wakanda, and Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch. And what can I do for you two charming ladies?” Bucky said, laying it on a little.

“Just sit back and continue to answer my questions, please. Who is Steve Rogers?”

“My golden retriever.” Wanda and Doctor Makutsi looked at each other, unamused. Served Bucky right for trying to be funny. “Little punk who got himself turned into a big punk and decided it’d be a good idea to run around fighting evil with a glorified pie plate. Goes by Captain America at work, unless he turned in his resignation.”

“Very good,” the doctor said, although she sounded, to Bucky’s ears, kind of dubious about it. “What is your mission?”

For a few seconds, Bucky felt like he was balanced on the edge of a precipice as his mind scrambled after _the briefing, dammit, there’s always a briefing_ before he caught himself. “My mission is whatever I decide it is. Until Steve gets himself into trouble again.”

“Excellent.” Doctor Makutsi smiled and flicked one of the beads on her kimoyo bracelet, and Bucky’s restraints released. “James, you have been a model patient. Please be careful when you try to stand up. The muscle relaxants will affect your coordination.”

“Yes’m.” Bucky sat up a bit woozily. “So is this over, doc? Am I done?”

“For today, yes. But you are not done with treatment. Conditioning this deep takes a great deal of unravelling, even with psychic assistance.”

“How long are we talking about, doctor?”

“If you keep up the level of progress you made today, and no complications arise, no more than a week.”

Only a week? It had taken HYDRA longer than that to program him the first time. “Sounds good to me, ma’am. Ain’t like I’ve got any pressing obligations right now.”

“Very good. I will see you tomorrow morning.” Doctor Makutsi turned to Wanda. “Wanda, thank you for your assistance. Will you be able to come tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“That will help this go much faster, I think. When you see Captain Rogers and his friends, let them know that James is awake and ready for visitors.” Wanda realized she was being dismissed, nodded, and left.

* * *

 

Now that Bucky no longer had to worry about lurking HYDRA agents with lists of trigger words, he seemed to have shrugged off some invisible weight. Not all of it - even though Steve had, irrationally, hoped for a miracle cure that would get HYDRA out of Bucky’s head for good and just… fix everything, but probably as good as was realistic under the circumstances.

There was a Wakandan head-doctor staying at the palace now - the kind that just talked, not one of the de-brainwashing scientists. T’Challa had politely but emphatically urged his guests to take advantage of her services, really, it was no trouble. Steve would have resented the implications about his and his friends’ sanity, but he couldn’t take too much offense because really, T’Challa had a point.

Sam had visited her a couple times. The first time because he was curious about Wakandan therapy and how it was different from the American kinds, the second just to talk. Probably about what happened to Rhodey. Sam wasn’t the brooding type, thankfully - Steve did enough of that for both of them when he was in a bad way - but Steve knew that it bothered him, and not just the way somebody you knew getting badly hurt would bother most people. Steve realized he’d been kind of a crumby friend lately and resolved to do better. He knew he got tunnel vision where Bucky was concerned, but Bucky was safer now than he’d ever been since 1943, and there were other people who needed Steve. Sam was one, Wanda was another. Steve worried about that girl.

Despite his best friend this century being a former VA counselor, Steve didn’t really “get” therapy. Oh, he understood how talking to _Sam_ could help someone get their head on straight, because Sam was very easy to talk to and understood the human condition, but Steve didn’t see how talking to a person you weren’t even friends with about issues neither of you could fix would help anyone get more mentally healthy. But Wanda was still shaken up from the Raft, and Steve didn’t know if time and an environment where nobody wanted to lock her up would be enough to fix it. As far as Steve knew, Wanda hadn’t tried to talk to the Wakandan therapist. Maybe she could help her. But Steve did not feel like he could, in good conscience, suggest that Wanda do something if he couldn’t tell her what to expect. There was only one thing for it: Steve would have to talk to Miss Dhakiya himself.

But Steve’s first task was to get ahold of her. Steve hoped her kimoyo bracelet had the upgrade that would let the messaging program exchange messages with non-Wakandan phones. It did, and Steve was able to arrange a meeting for that afternoon. Surprisingly, being able to get that settled didn’t make Steve feel any less edgy. Normally, when Steve was nervous about something, the feeling only lasted as long as Steve wasn’t sure what he should do. Once Steve had a plan, even if it wasn’t a great plan, resolve - and, if Steve was being perfectly honest, stubbornness - took over and Steve felt a lot better. Steve told himself not to be ridiculous. This wasn’t SHIELD. Miss Dhakiya was not going to send him to a cabin in the woods for two weeks with nobody but a computer to talk to if she didn’t think he was adjusting well enough.

‘ _This is it. Point of no return_ ,’ Steve thought, as he knocked on the door of Miss Dhakiya’s office. A very small woman opened the door and led him into a room that smelled faintly of roasting coffee and fresh flowers. “Good afternoon, Captain Rogers. Was there anything specific that you wanted to talk about?”

“Good afternoon, ma’am. And you… really don’t need to be calling me Captain. I think going on the run with Bucky might have have counted as turning in my resignation.” Steve smiled wearily. “Which is part of what I want to talk to you about. It has been a hell of a past couple months, pardon my language.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The annoyingly catchy pop song on Sam's playlist is Barbie Girl, by Aqua.  
> Wakandan porridge with spiced butter is based on a real Ethiopian and Eritrean dish known as genfo or ga'at.  
> Kimoyo bracelets are a Wakandan technology from the comics - basically, wearable portable computers. A bit like a smartphone or tablet in bracelet form, although the fancier ones go way beyond that.  
> T'Challa is being very generous, but he isn't doing this *just* to be nice. He knows what kinds of trouble a bunch of emotionally compromised superheroes can get up to on their own.


	2. Interlude: Happy Birthday Steve Rogers!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't manage to get this done by the 4th of July, unfortunately, but here it is.

It was two days until Steve Rogers’s birthday, and Sam Wilson was on a mission. Asking Steve what he wanted was hopeless - Steve Rogers had no problems asking people to take on world-spanning conspiracies with him, but inquire what he wanted for his birthday and it was “oh, it’s fine, I don’t need anything.” Time to ask Steve’s old friends and teammates.

Sam found Clint at the gym, doing something implausibly acrobatic for a guy in his forties. Sam climbed up to join him. “‘Sup, bird buddy.”

“Hey.”

“Steve’s birthday’s in two days,” Sam said. “You getting him anything?” Sam was giving Steve an artbook about the East African contemporary art scene.

“I was going to get him the _Hamilton_ album,” Clint said. “But I left it at home when I had to leave the country in a hurry. I guess I can burn him a copy.”

“You think he’d like that?” Sam asked. “I’ve been trying to introduce him to hip-hop, but I haven’t found anything that really clicks with him yet.”

“It’s about America and a plucky immigrant orphan who wants to fight everyone,” Clint said. “I thought it’d be relatable.”

“Yeah, I can see that. So, weird question, but - do you know what kind of cake Steve likes?”

“Don’t you know that? You’ve spent the most time with him out of any of us except Barnes.”

“Yeah, but you know how Steve is,” Sam said. “Well-brought-up Depression baby. He’s just happy there’s enough cake to go around, he’s not gonna make special requests.”

“Why don’t you ask Barnes?” Clint asked.

“Because he’s in the middle of having his brain unscrambled and won’t be good for anything until this evening. I want to get started today so I don’t have to buy the ingredients at the last minute.”

Clint nodded understandingly and the two men set in companionable silence for a few moments. Then Clint said “Apple cake. When he was living in DC, he asked Nat if she knew any bakeries near where he lived that made a good apple cake.”

“Apple cake. Gotcha. Thanks, man,” Sam said.

“Any time. Save me a piece, okay?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Sam said. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Sam found Scott Lang sitting at a desk in his suite with a set of tiny tools, a magnifier, and the remains of some Wakandan electronic gadget - something fairly old-fashioned, since it had recognizable internal parts instead of kimoyo tech. “Please tell me you didn’t take apart the toaster,” Sam said.

“Hey, this was broken when I got my hands on it,” said Scott. “I just wanted to get a better idea of how Wakandan tech worked, and I couldn’t find any manuals written in English. I thought it couldn’t be too hard to understand. I mean, electricity is electricity, whatever country you’re in.” Sam nodded. “But if you have enough vibranium you can do all kinds of things my engineering classes never covered.”

“I can imagine,” Sam said. “Scott, I’ve got a favor I want to ask you. How good of a scrounger are you? We’re talking reasonably polite, legal scrounging, of course.”

“Polite and legal kind of limits your options, but I think I’m better than most people,” Scott said. “What do you need?”

“Steve’s birthday is in two days and I want to make him an apple cake,” Sam said. “But apple cake is not a normal part of Wakandan cuisine, so it’s not like I’ll be able to pick up all my supplies in one trip to Save-A-Lot. I figured it would be easier getting my hands on everything I’ll need with some help.”

“Do I get anything out of this?” Scott asked.

“Free cake.”

“I’m in. Gimme your shopping list.”

With Scott on dry ingredients and utensils duty, Sam hit the markets to look for apples or a reasonable equivalent. He had no idea if apples could even grow in Wakanda. It was a tropical country, but it got cool up in the hills, didn’t it?

While he was exploring the Central Wakanda produce market, Sam started to wonder about Wakandan agriculture. Was it as futuristic as a lot of their technology? Were those mangos some kind of gene-spliced vibranium-infused nanotech superfruit, or were they just… mangos? 

If Sam had wanted to make banana bread, he’d have had a ton of options, but he could not find any damn cooking apples. The closest he could find was a pretty red fruit called the Mount Kanda apple, which had the right texture but wasn’t tart enough. But Sam remembered Steve telling him about his mom making mock apple pie during the Depression, with lemon juice and cream of tartar to make it tangy. Sam saw no reason why the same principle shouldn’t work for cake. The stall next door sold tamarind, which Sam thought should be at least as good for adding fruity sourness to a recipe as lemon juice. Sam bought big bags of both kinds of fruit, so he’d have extra for experimentation, as well as a bag of African walnuts, and headed back to the palace.

When Sam got back to his suite, he noticed Steve and Bucky curled up on the couch like a couple of cats in a laundry basket, taking an afternoon nap. Sam wasn’t surprised to see Bucky sacked out - deprogramming took a lot out of him - but he hadn’t been expecting Steve “I get up before six every day and run thirty miles as a morning jog” Rogers to join him. Sam tiptoed up to them and took a picture with his phone to commemorate the occasion. Steve and Bucky looked really cute when they were sleeping. You could hardly tell what a couple of assholes they were when they were awake.

Sam tiptoed into the suite’s kitchenette and found that Scott had already brought in the dry ingredients and cake pans. Now it was up to Sam. He had a trustworthy recipe in mind for the cake, but the fruit was going to need some experimentation. Sam decided to start by making apple pie-flavored tamarind syrup and letting the I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-apple slices marinate in it. When the kitchen started to smell like cinnamon, the Popsicle Twins, as if at a signal, woke up and drifted to the kitchen door with hopeful looks.

“It smells like pie in here,” Bucky said. “ _Is_ there pie?” he asked, with an accusatory edge that Sam considered _completely_ out of line.

“It smells really good, Sam,” Steve said.

“There is no pie, _Barnes_ ,” Sam said. “This is for a personal project. But y’all can have a taste when it’s done if you help me cut this fruit up.” Bucky nodded and pulled a knife out. It looked clean, but still. Sam had _standards_. “With a kitchen knife, Bucky.”

“You are no fun,” Bucky said. Steve just looked at them both with that wistful, doe-eyed “I can’t believe we’re all here together” smile.

With two supersoldiers helping out - Steve paring and Bucky chopping one-handed - Sam soon had all the chopped Mount Kanda apples he needed. “Thanks, guys,” Sam said. “I think I’ve got it from here.” Steve and Bucky took the hint and went back out to the common room, where Sam overheard them begin a game of Wakandan mancala. Steve, being both an expert strategist and a big old nerd, was as good at board games as you would expect. But T’Challa, who was also an expert strategist and had the advantage of having grown up with the game, was apparently the _bao_ shark of East Africa. And while Steve was a good sport about T’Challa wiping the floor with him every time they played together, Sam knew that he was also a competitive sonofabitch. Sam wasn’t surprised at all that Steve was practicing in his free time with anyone who would cooperate.

The stewed Mount Kanda apples turned out to be juicier than Sam had anticipated - he’d have to adjust the recipe if he didn’t want soggy cake - but otherwise about what he’d expected. Sam received no complaints from either of the sad defrosted super soldiers. Bucky may not have remembered his crazy-good old timey manners as well as Steve did, but he remembered enough not to complain about free dessert.

Sam woke up the next day full of energy and big plans. This cake was gonna be awesome! (And if the cake turned out to be less than awesome, he had enough ingredients and time for a second batch, because unlike certain big blonds he could name, Sam knew the meaning of prudence.) Bucky went off to the medical wing to have his brain unscrambled as normal. But Steve would not leave. 

“Is anything wrong, Steve?” Sam asked. “Don’t you and T’Challa usually go for a run together every day?”

“We did,” Steve said. “But he’s real busy today so we rescheduled it for earlier in the morning.” Sam winced.

“Planning on visiting the palace library?” Sam asked. “I was browsing the other day and they have some good books on Wakandan art history.”

“Sam,” Steve said, looking at him reproachfully, “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Sam nodded. “Just for a couple of hours. It’s nothing personal, man. Sometimes a guy just wants to watch morally bankrupt television without a running commentary during the commercials about how all the main characters need to have a long talk with their priest.”

“Okay, Sam,” Steve said. “I guess I’ll be in the gym or the library if anyone needs me for anything. Enjoy your terrible-people shows.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Sam said. And as soon as Steve was safely out the door and not likely to come back unannounced for his sketchbook, Sam got to work on the cake. And because Sam was not the kind of person who went around just casually _lying_ to Captain America, he watched an episode of _Game of Thrones_ while the cake was in the oven.

The cake was cooling and the common area of their suite still smelled suspiciously like cinnamon and baking fruit when Sam heard a soft, hesitant knock on the door. _Dammit, how am I gonna explain this_? he thought, before he realized that it couldn’t be Steve. He opened the door and saw Wanda standing there looking nervous, which hadn’t been rare for her since the Raft.

“Bucky told me that the Captain’s birthday is tomorrow,” Wanda said. “Will he expect me to give him anything?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “He won’t. But if you want to do something, I’m making Steve a birthday cake. You can help with the topping.”

“I’d like that,” Wanda said. “And I could use the distraction. I’m glad I can help him, but Bucky’s mind is a terrible place.”

“Yeah, that kid’s got some issues,” Sam said.

“Kid? He is almost one hundred years old,” Wanda said.

“But he doesn’t act like it. Neither does Steve, unless you manage to push his Grumpy Old Man buttons. Which is hilarious, by the way.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. And have you ever toasted nuts before?” Sam asked. Wanda hadn’t, but she was a quick study, and they got the cake frosted and put away without incident before Steve and Bucky came back.

Now the question arose - how to give Steve his birthday goodies? Steve could be a real holidork about Christmas and other holidays, but he probably wouldn’t want a big party in his own honor, even if Sam had been in a position to throw one. Maybe Sam could just have the team over for brunch. Cake can be brunch food, and it’s not like Steve of all people was uncomfortable socializing before noon. Yeah, brunch could work. Sam let Steve know that they were having friends over for brunch tomorrow - in an occupation with as high rates of PTSD and hypervigilance as theirs, real out-of-nowhere surprise parties weren’t a great idea - and not to make any conflicting plans for mid-morning. Then he called up the rest of the team. Everyone was on the same page, which in retrospect Sam should have realized was ominous. Sam also invited T’Challa, because he and Steve were exercise and _bao_ buddies and it would have been rude to exclude him, but he didn’t expect that T’Challa would take time out from his busy absolute monarch schedule and actually _attend._

At nine a.m. on the fourth of July, Sam welcomed Wanda, Clint, and Scott to the suite he shared with Steve and Bucky, as he’d expected. What he did not expect was the goddamn King of Wakanda, in casual clothes, carrying a gift-wrapped box under his arm and accompanied by a palace servant carrying a bakery box that smelled like Wakandan honey bread. “Good morning,” T’Challa said. “I hear congratulations are in order.” 

Scott, who unlike Steve and T’Challa was clearly _not_ a morning person, decided to commence the festivities with a cup of coffee. Never mind that Steve, Bucky, and _maybe_ T’Challa, depending on how his powers worked, were probably the only humans on earth who had any business drinking Wakandan coffee out of American-sized coffee mugs. Wakandans used those cute little porcelain cups for a damn good reason. But Scott was in good health with no history of heart palpitations, and was clutching his mug with “first cup of the day” tenacity, so Sam decided to leave him to it, and sat back to enjoy the show. Scott was a funny guy, anyway, and with a mug of Wakandan coffee egging him on, he kept the conversation going until everyone else got over the shock of “oh my god, I’m eating eggs with African King Cat Batman!” Not that Sam was overly impressed by wealth or royalty, but T’Challa was really distractingly handsome when he wasn’t trying to chase you down and claw your face off. His aura of regal poise was only enhanced by the fact that he was the only person at the table whose nose wasn’t running from the spiced butter.

After everyone had finished their eggs, porridge with spiced butter, refried flatbread with spiced butter and yogurt, honey bread, coffee, and fruit, they took a break from eating so the non-Wakandans’ noses could stop running and Steve could open his presents. Besides Sam and Clint’s gifts, Steve also got a Wakandan drawing tablet from T’Challa. It looked fairly standard at first, except for the program that could turn drawings into holograms. Steve seemed to sincerely like all his presents, even if he’d been a little confused about what on earth a homemade CD labelled “Hamilton” was until Clint explained it.

Okay. Now was the moment of truth. Time to bring out the cake. To Sam’s everlasting regret, neither he nor Scott had been able to source ninety-eight tiny candles. Though, considering Steve’s reaction whenever Bucky brought up the old USO show, Sam thought Steve probably was just as happy people weren’t singing at him. 

Sam had made a big cake, so there was enough for everyone even with two super soldiers and one extremely athletic panther-powered monarch. Steve took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully while Sam waited in suspense, then looked up and smiled. “Was this what you were working on the other day?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“It’s really good,” Steve said. 

“Best mock apple stuff I’ve ever had,” said Bucky.

“Well, it’s nice to know I can do better than a box of crackers,” said Sam.

“I like it,” said T’Challa. “Most American pastry is too sweet. This is not.”

 _Well whaddaya know_ , Sam thought. _Maybe if I have to retire from superheroing permanently I can take up life anew as a pastry chef. Captain America tested, King of Wakanda approved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Wakandan food on Ethiopian food, since the two countries are neighbors in the comics. Honey bread, porridge with spiced butter, and refried flatbread are all real Ethiopian dishes. The Mount Kanda apple is my own invention - it's a fictional subspecies of the Mountain Apple or Rose Apple, a real tropical fruit related to cloves. African Walnuts are a real nut, but not related to walnuts. Bao is a real game, a mancala variation with a strong strategic element popular in many parts of Eastern Africa.  
> I assumed that Wakandan coffee would be pretty strong, because Wakanda is a very technologically advanced nation and engineers do love their caffeine.


	3. The Plot Picks Up Again

Three weeks after his ninety-eighth birthday, Steve received an unexpected message from the head of palace security. Ayo was a zealously competent lady with cheekbones that would have made Marlene Dietrich sick with envy, huge brown eyes that could stare down a basilisk, unshakeable poise, and about as much tolerance for foolishness and misbehavior as a nun with a toothache. Steve knew that she didn’t have a lot of use for men, and had even less for trouble-making foreign superheroes, but that didn’t stop him from harboring a bit of a crush on her.

Ayo’s message was brief and simple: a picture of Sharon Carter, flanked by Wakandan border guards and looking bemused, captioned: _**Captain. Do you know this woman?**_

 ** __** _Yes_ , Steve texted back. _That’s Sharon Carter. Or at least someone pretending to be Sharon_ , he added, remembering one of Natasha’s spy tricks. _She’s a friend_.

_**Of course she was checked for disguises, Captain. Do you take us for amateurs?** _

**__** _No ma’am._

_**This Sharon Carter claims she has a message for you and your companions. Do you wish to speak to her?** _

**__**_Yes!_ For all the awkward lumps of _feeling_ hanging between them, Steve still considered Sharon a good friend. And if she’d come all the way to Wakanda to talk to them, it had to be important.

_**Then I will have her escorted to the palace. Meet in the Security Office public meeting room in three hours. Bring your friends.** _

**__** _Thank you!_

Three hours later, the door to the meeting room was still closed, and Steve could hear Ayo and Sharon in what sounded like the middle of an interrogation.

“Why did the CIA send you?” Ayo asked. When she wanted to, she had the most menacingly precise diction of anyone Steve had ever encountered. Even Peggy Carter in her iciest moments of icy disdain couldn’t really compete.

“The CIA didn’t send me. They’re not very happy with me right now,” Sharon replied.

“Why did Fury send you?”

“Director Fury’s dead.”

“We both know that is not true. Why did he send you?”

“Okay, I do have a message from him, but it has nothing to do with SHIELD, or the CIA, or anything involving intelligence or national security. It’s personal business.”

“Personal business which a CIA agent is conducting with the King’s guests under my roof. You appreciate,” Ayo said archly, “my concerns.”

“I do,” Sharon said.

Someone must have turned on the intercom because suddenly Steve heard Ayo’s voice clear and unmuffled. “Eavesdropping is rude, Captain Rogers. You can come in now.” The doors opened, and Steve and his friends trooped in and sat down around the biggest table.

“Hi, Steve,” Sharon said. They both smiled awkwardly. “Hi, Sam. Hello, Bucky. How’s the new arm?”

“It’s… really good,” Bucky said. “It’s a lot lighter and more comfortable than the old one, but the neural connections haven’t all integrated yet, so I’m still getting some funny feedback. Like when-” Ayo cleared her throat, and everyone settled down and shut up.

“Agent Carter. What do you have to say that is worth traveling half-way round the world?”

“Well,” Sharon said. She was holding up pretty well under Ayo’s gimlet gaze, but Steve sensed that Sharon was a bit rattled. “I met with Director Fury and Maria Hill, and we came up with a way for you guys to come back to America.” Scott and Clint perked up immediately. No doubt they missed their families. 

“Don’t tell me Ross saw sense,” Sam said skeptically.

“He hasn’t yet,” Sharon said. “Although he did face some backlash. A journalist dug up the story of how he handled the Hulk the first time around, and more people seem to be subscribing to the idea that even if superheroes need official dealing with, he shouldn’t have been the one to run the show.”

“Well that’s something, I guess,” Steve said.

“Zemo’s arrest was a turning point in public opinion, at least in the US,” Sharon continued. “If Zemo was the bomber, and not Bucky, then Captain America was trying to protect his friend from unjust persecution, not running amok to help out a terrorist. And if nobody on Cap’s side was a terrorist, then why were they being detained indefinitely in some mysterious location instead of being charged and brought to trial or let go? A lot of people still support the Accords, but there’s more of a feeling that the government got things wrong as well.”

“So if we can’t go back to normal just yet, what are we gonna do? Get fake identities and go to work for Nick Fury’s latest project?” Sam asked.

“Sort of,” Sharon said. “But not as secret agents or superheroes.”

“Okay,” Scott said. “How are a bunch of ex-heroes who are all wanted by the Feds going to get real jobs in this economy? Employers always find out about that sort of thing,” he continued, in the voice of a man taught by bitter experience.

Sharon smiled. “Simple. Nepotism.” She continued, “Nick Fury and Maria Hill both have civilian identities working for a school district in Washington State. It covers a bunch of small communities near a military base. Mostly working-class through middle-class, lots of military families, plenty of veterans working for the district, pretty high ethnic diversity, including,” and here Sharon looked at Wanda, “Eastern European immigrants. You guys should fit right in. And it’s a growing community with lots of young families, so they’re always hiring.”

“You want us to be teachers?” Clint said dubiously. “Do any of us know _how_ to be teachers? Do any of us even know how to teach well enough to fake it?”

“Steve’s a good teacher,” Wanda said softly.

“You don’t have to be teachers,” Sharon said. “Schools need paraeducators and nurses and janitors and coaches and lunch ladies. And there are programs out there to help veterans apply their military experience and training to civilian jobs. The district employs a lot of vets, so if you got your certifications through that it wouldn’t raise any suspicions.”

“That’s all true,” said Sam. “But what about the time issue? School starts at the beginning of September. We’ve got, what, a little over a month to set up new lives in new jobs on another continent?”

“I have SHIELD connections who can help set up your new identities,” Sharon said. “Maria works in district HR, she can fast-track you guys getting hired. And you should be used to doing stuff at the last minute. How often do supervillains give a month’s advance warning?”

Sharon had a point. But Steve had something else to consider. “What about you, Buck? Do you want to go back to America?”

“If you’re going back, I’m coming with you,” Bucky said. 

“But what do you want, Buck?” Steve asked.

“To be honest,” Bucky said. “I just want not to have to run anymore. I would like to go back someday. I mean, Wakanda’s an amazing place and T’Challa’s been incredibly generous, and I’m very grateful,” he said, more to Ayo than to Steve, “But I can’t stay here forever.” He turned back to Steve. “And I can’t go back to living always looking over my shoulder, either.” 

“That is… a really reasonable concern, Bucky,” said Sharon. “The official manhunt’s been over since Zemo was arrested. I can ask my contacts if anyone who’s competent enough to be a threat is still looking for you.”

“Thanks, Sharon.” 

“Any news about my family?” Clint asked.

“Fury wouldn’t give me any details, but he told me they were safe,” Sharon said. “Scott, your family’s safe, but I wouldn’t advise trying to get in touch with Pym Tech until the heat dies down. All the ‘potentially weaponizable experimental technology’ companies that weren’t actively cooperating with the government have been put under closer scrutiny.”

“How about my family?” Sam asked. “Does my mom even know I’m alive?”

“Fury sent her a message,” Sharon said. “But not before she and her friends got up a whole twitter campaign on your behalf. I didn’t know sixty year old church ladies were so good at social media.”

“Mom always was good at getting the word out,” Sam said fondly.

“Well, it picked up some traction,” Sharon said. “People get suspicious when a photogenic African-American veteran and superhero who wasn’t even involved with the Sokovia incident gets brought in for resisting arrest and destruction of property and is _never heard from again_.”

“I would be suspicious too,” Sam said. “Because that is _shady as hell_.”

“So once #FreeFalcon gathers enough steam that someone in the government feels obliged to address it, Ross and company are going to be in a very awkward position. Either admit that they were holding a bunch of superheroes extrajudicially in a secret prison and then couldn’t even keep them confined, or let the general public think that you all died in custody or are being imprisoned in an oubliette somewhere,” Sharon continued. “So much for ‘power needs accountability.’ It’ll be a PR nightmare.”

“Good,” said Clint. “Let ‘em sweat.”

“But what if getting in trouble just makes Ross more determined to find someone to take it out on?” Bucky asked. “Some people are like that.”

“Ross isn’t any kind of spy, and you’ll have Fury and Maria and me on your side,” Sharon said. “You’ll have an escape plan if you need one.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “I’m in.” 

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said. “What does everyone else think?”

“We have to go back sometime,” Sam said, “And I’d rather do it with backup who are good at the secret identity spy stuff. I’m in.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“If there’s a job I can do, I’ll do it,” Wanda said skeptically.

“What she said,” added Clint.

“That won’t be a problem,” Sharon said. “Like I said, school districts employ all kinds of people with all kinds of skills.” She took out a tablet and brought up a document. “Why don’t you pass this around? You don’t have to pick your jobs now, but it would give Fury and Hill more lead time.” Wanda nodded and took the tablet.

“Scott?” Steve asked.

“Does Cassie know I’m alive?”

“Fury told all your families as much as he could without compromising security,” Sharon said.

“Okay,” Scott sighed with relief. “Sure, I’ll do it.”

“Okay, then,” Sharon said. “I’ll tell them them everyone’s in. The tablet has a list of all the open jobs. Let me know what you want to do as soon as possible so Maria can start forging your applications.”

“Thank you, Sharon,” Steve said. “This is going to be really helpful.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sharon said. “But if I can make a suggestion - don’t do anything involving ROTC. Too much potential to be recognized if people see you in any kind of uniform.”

“I wasn’t thinking of it,” Steve said. “I think I’ve had enough of the military for a while. Does that list have any openings for art teachers?”


End file.
